


Soldier

by ballsy_devil



Series: War in Beauty; Beauty in War [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Horrible Team, I really hate doing this to my child but..., Keith has left to Mamora, Lance (Voltron) Needs a Hug, Langst since I'm sad, Other, Slight Klance - Freeform, They really need to take care of their members better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:54:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25132711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballsy_devil/pseuds/ballsy_devil
Summary: In which Lance forces himself to be the best soldier with Keith's disappearance.
Series: War in Beauty; Beauty in War [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1973356
Comments: 4
Kudos: 111





	Soldier

When Keith left, the Voltron not only lost a member of their team but the only good fighter that they had; sure, Shiro was still around but it wouldn't be fair to leave everything on the traumatized man's shoulders, would he? Everyone makes sure you remember that every time you open your mouth to start complaining.

Shiro would most likely drop an offhand compliment about how Keith was way better than you or maybe the Princess would glare at you during the treaty ceremony. Hunk and Pidge would also snub you, laughing at any suggestions or comments you brought up.

It was always different remarks but it meant the same thing: they thought you were weak. 

It didn't matter who or how they said it, it was always just point that they were bringing up; you could never be "Keith," who they really wanted: silent and strong "Keith" and not funny and loud "Lance." So you vow to give them what they want so they could see you were just as important or maybe more than Keith.

You would become a perfect soldier capable of following any rules that they give to you.

( _Would you lose your soul,_ the pictures ask, _to be the perfect chess piece in their game?_ )

It starts slowly with individual training early in the morning so that no one would notice- not that they cared a bit. They still thought you were goofing off and taking a "beauty rest."

You start at six a.m. and forgo-ed your beauty regimen altogether. There was no beauty in war, you remind yourself in the mirror, there is only bloodshed and pain. There is only tears and death and screams and horror.

(You looked into Shiro's eyes sometimes and could see the pain in his eyes every time he killed a Galran.

"They're not people," he keeps on muttering to himself, "they're not people." )

But there is war in beauty; with each layer of mask that you put on- with every inch of scrubbing you'd did to keep your pores clean. There would always be war in beauty. 

(There would always be war in everything you do.) 

You start off with the basics, using your sniper before switching to the broadsword, as unfamiliar as it was in your arms. ("Keith was able to use his sword with ease!" Shiro roared at you, "why can't you do it at all?!" )

Each mistake was a penalty- a innocent life lost during the war- and there were punishment for those mistakes.

( _Their was always a punishment,_ the Castle hums, mourning the sound that once filled their halls.)

As punishment, you'd start the simulation again, handicapping one of your senses. There wasn't an assurance that you'll always have your sense or body parts anymore- just take a look at Shiro, for god's sake- so you had to be ready for anything that came your way. A soldier was always prepared because war was tricky. War didn't care if you missed your mamá or your familia or that you'd wake up in the middle of the night, screaming and wailing like a baby, hoping that someone would hear and help.

( _They don't care,_ the pictures say, crying with you, _they've never cared for you, have they?_ You turn the pictures away, not wanting to hear their voice.)

Sometimes, Coran found you there at the break of dawn, only watching you. He'd never stop you, which you appreciated but always brought something for you to eat. You didn't eat but the gesture was nice. Though you didn't talk, you have come to anticipate those meetings and they became special to you.

You'd given up food and placed yourself on a strict diet; soldiers didn't need to much and had to watch themselves. When in war, the only thing you could eat were things that went down easily as the battle raged all around you. Food goo at six- before anyone woke up- and a light snack for each break.

(There were less and less breaks as you built up your endurance, abetting from eating altogether. Your stomach growls in protest and your mamá cried through her picture frames. _Mi hijo,_ she cries, _mi hijo._ You turn her picture around, not bearing to listen to her cries anymore.)

Sometimes, you woke up late, which forced you to interact with the team; not that they noticed that you were gone in the first place but it felt better distancing yourself from them.

(A soldier didn't need any friends, you remind yourself anytime the longing became unbearable, you are fine just by yourself.)

When you did join them, you didn't talk; for the most part, you sat in a jumble of silence, inhaling the food goo before quickly leaving.

Coran became your silent companion, pushing more food goo in your plate that you refused.

One rare occasion, Hunk stopped you before you left. 

"Buddy!" he crows, dropping an arm on your shoulder; you jolt, surprised but hide it, immediately berating yourself.

(A soldier was always prepared. Nothing was supposed to surprise them.)

"You haven't eaten." he says as an observation; you plaster something on your face that hopes would pass for a smile. (it was a grimace.)

"I'm good," you state, face reverting back into a blank expression. It's something you've trained yourself to do instead of smiling; soldiers weren't supposed to smile when around such brutal and sickly sights.

Hunk startles before he smiles again, trying to keep up a conversation.

"So, Pidge and I are playing video games. Wanna join?" he asks, smiling his easy smile again. You missed that smile and didn't realized so until you saw it again.

"Can't," you quickly state, "I'm going to go train." Here he starts to giggle a bit before falling into shoulder-shaking, full body laughter. 

"Funny Lance," he says, nudging you, "Always ready with joke fore everyone." You don't move a muscle when he nudges you again but you tense up, feeling yourself getting ready for a battle.

( _They're your friends,_ his mamá teeters, on the verge of crying, _why do you deny them so?_ )

"We're sorry," Pidge chimes in, "so please join us." She turns on her "puppy eyes" on you, making you melt a bit inside but you push it aside. You remember everything she said about you- how you were useless and the fifth wheel (the seventh, if you counted the Princess and Coran) in the team. You agreed with her but that didn't mean you wanted to be around her. Soldiers were allowed a few moments of human emotions, too.

"Sorry," you say ( _smile,_ the pictures hiss, _smile._ ) You forced the smile on your face, hoping it would ease their worry. 

"I'm really busy." 

You then leave, not looking back at all. You do hear their conversation as they walk closer to the training room, their words trickling into your ears.

"I do hope Lance is there before us," the Princess states, groaning a bit, "it's very annoying when we have to wait for him." Pidge and Hunk giggled like two peas in a pod.

"Lance has never been early for anything in his life," the gremlin squeaks. You hear Shiro mutter something but you shake off their voice, focusing on the simulation. They're weren't the ones who matter; soldiers weren't controlled by their emotions, you remind yourself. You are to be emotionless and stoic.

( _like a robot,_ a small voice giggles, _just like those shows we'd watch on Mamá's lap_ ) 

You don't look up when they enter; you don't say anything when you brush by them, leaving the room. ("How-?!" Pidge exclaims. "Oh my-" the Princess gasps and you could imagine her hand on her chest, the look of shock on her face. 

At this, you allow yourself a smug smile as their shock resound through the Castle.) 

For the "extra time" you had, you spent them with Red, bonding with the Lion. You had to make sure that it was a strong bond so you wouldn't fuck up.

("Stop messing up!" Shiro yells from the Black Lion. "How dare you think you could ever handle Black when you couldn't even handle Red?!")

You wouldn't mess this up for anybody, anymore.

It's there Keith finds you when he returns back to Voltron, sitting absentmindedly in Red. The Lion purrs when Keith enters but you make no movement and just stare, which shocks Keith.

(You could tell; you're now able to read people's emotions better than them. You could tell when they wanted you to shut the fuck up or when they were pleased with you, which was rare.)

He's expecting you to smile or crack a joke or maybe that you'd tease him about his mullet or the scar that now run on straight down his cheeks. He's expecting a flirty kiss, even. Instead, you stand at attention as he takes in your new (silent, tough, chiseled) form. He stares in horror at the amount of blood socked bandages in the cockpit and at the needle that laid next to it, covered in blood.

He took in the cockpit that now smelled as if someone was dying or had bled out all over the place. You still stand in attention, restlessly shifting the longer Keith stayed silent. You were the perfect soldier like they wanted so where was your praises? Where were the compliments they gave to Keith? Why weren't they given to _you_?

Keith watches you before stumbling into your form. (You remember when he did so before he left- his arms that grazed down your chest, pulling noises out of you like a snake charmer. "I love you," he says again and again, tears slipping through his golden eyes. "I don't want to leave you." But that wasn't now and would never be today.)

"Please.." he chokes out, "anyone...but you. I never wanted you to ever..." His shoulder shakes as tears slip from his golden eyes- eyes that reminded you of the golden sun in Cuba touching the cerulean blue waves. Before you'd pull him close and hug him until he stopped crying- until he held you against the torrent of war that washed through you.

"Please," he cries out again, "please give me my Lance back." Cautiously, you pull him towards you, trying to remember how you used to this. Did you hug him like this? What were the words that you used to whispered? How did you stave away his fear?

You don't remember; his Lance, that he wanted, was buried down under that you didn't know how he could claw himself back out of it. (I'm _here,_ the bubbly voice says, _I'm here. I'm hereI'mhereI'mhereI'mehere...)_

"Please..." he says, pulling you towards his chest, "come back to me..." Soldiers aren't supposed to cry, soldiers aren't allowed feelings; soldiers had to be strong and ready for battle at any minute. Soldiers were tough, resilient...

For the first time in forever, you broke down in familiar chest and hands as his voice hushes you and envelops you in warmth.

For the first time in forever, you weren't a soldier but a poor Cuban boy who missed the sea, his mamá, and his anchor through the torrent of war.

You felt Red and Blue purr through your connections and break down a bit more, missing this familiar warmth. 

"It's okay, Lance," Keith says over and over. ( _You'll be okay,_ the picture frames croon; _Y_ _ou'll bounce back,_ the Castle teeter.) "You don't have to be a soldier. Just be Lance."


End file.
